


The Calamitous

by OnceBlinkInsomniac



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: AU, Implied/Referenced Torture, OT5, Other, Serial Killer Red Velvet, Violence, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceBlinkInsomniac/pseuds/OnceBlinkInsomniac
Summary: Red Velvet Serial Killer AU
Relationships: OT5 - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	The Calamitous

**Author's Note:**

> This is unlike anything I´ve ever written before and probably unlike anything I´ll ever write again but I wanted to give this a try. Trigger warning for description of torture and slight gore. Also implied past abuse. Fair warning, this is kinda weird lol

It was a cold, Christmas eve in Stockholm. The stores were all either closed or about to close, everyone eager to head back home and enjoy the holiday with their loved ones. There were only a few people out and about, a sense of urgency hanging over them as they tried to find last-minute gifts.

It had been dark and heavy all day, as one could expect from winter in Stockholm. So, it came to no one’s surprise when the skies opened up without warning and rain started pouring down heavily. Most people had already left but the few strays that were left behind scrambled to find refuge in the only place that was still open. A small bar that provided the only light in the dark square.

People hurriedly went inside, a mutual sigh of relief leaving all of them as the warmth from the room brought immediate relief to their shivering selves. The bar was almost empty, apart from the few regulars who didn’t have a family to go home to. Only one middle-aged woman was standing behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a towel. Without lifting her eyes from her task, she motioned at the newly arrived group of people, wordlessly telling them to sit down. 

There was a relaxed atmosphere within the bar that deferred greatly from the urgency and stress that they had all been feeling moments before and so, 4 of the 5 people went up to the bar stand and sat down, taking out their phones to call their spouses or whoever was waiting for them back home that they’d be a while. 

The fifth, however, a man, headed towards one of the small, circular tables, close enough to hear what was being said at the bar but far enough not to be included in any conversation. He was a tall, slim man with short, messy dark hair and watchful eyes. He took out a book from his bag and opened it, not even looking up from it when the bartender came over to ask him what he wanted to drink. He simply asked for a glass of water, not seeing the way the bartender stared at him for a few moments before leaving, an unexplained sense of unease rolling over her for a few seconds before it was gone.

The woman went back to behind the bar, filling up everyone’s orders. A small smile was permanently etched on her face, which was in part responsible for the relaxed atmosphere. One of the men who had already been in the bar before and was sitting in the bar in front of her suddenly asked her to continue her story. The woman shook her head, telling him that she had to work. The man, however, not one to be deterred, simply pointed at the new group, all of whom had been watching the window and waiting for the rain to stop enough so they could leave. “Do they look like they mind?” he asked. 

The bartender shot him a reproachful look which she clearly didn’t mean before letting out a small laugh. It was clear by their interactions that they knew each other. Probably from him being a regular at the bar. With one last look at the other people to make sure they didn’t need anything, she leaned on her side of the bar, making sure she had the man’s attention before jumping into a story she’d clearly been in the middle of before they arrived.

_“Most people in Seoul thought of the calamitous as nothing more than a nighttime story, created by parents to scare children into behaving. After all, no one wanted to think of the possibility of there being any truth to the story. So instead, they ignored it. Wrote it off as no more than lies. But what they didn’t know was that by doing that, they were giving them exactly what they wanted. Invisibility._

_The members of the calamitous lived in the shadows. Always watching. Always listening. They were all very different. Except for one very vital thing that brought them together. You see, these women had realized something very early on in their life that most people never get. They understood that life is nothing more than a game. A game they played with each other, as most people wouldn’t understand. And that’s the way things had been since they first met in high school. Unlike other people, they immediately recognized each other for what they were, despite the mask they all put on. A kindred soul._

_They’d been playing ever since. Of course, over time, they’d all developed their own methods, played by their own rules, each move they did taking them closer to winning the game. Like in everything else in life, it was inevitable that there would be a hierarchy and this hierarchy was decided by the best player._

_Now, you might be wondering, what is this game exactly? Well, it’s none other than survival of the fittest. And in their eyes, they were the fittest. Everyone else who adhered to society’s rules and denied their own darkest impulses was weak and didn’t deserve to stay in the game._

_So, you see, the second they chose their target, it was game on. They would fight dirty to be the first one to get their hands on them. And once they finally did, it was game over for their target and a point towards the killer. Which of course meant a step closer to the top of the hierarchy. And to being the best player._

_While it often moved around, there was one particular member who found herself at the top more often than not. A woman known to very few as Irene. Most, however, knew her by another name she went by. The artist. She was particularly cruel and sadistic which is why she made for a great player. She liked to experiment around with her victims, find out how exactly could she cause them the worst pain possible. There was nothing more she loved than hearing their pathetic please for mercy. She would ignore them, however, and her victims were often unable to make any resemblance to noise anymore by the time she finally delivered her final blow. There were a few who had even managed to cut off their own tongues by biting through them._

_She didn’t really mind that but she always made sure that it didn’t happen too early on in their game, as listening to their cries was the best part of it all. Because to the artist, it was personal. You see, unlike most of the others, she hadn’t always been this way. In fact, there was a time when she was a happy, friendly child. A time when she believed in people. Until society turned their backs on her and showed her the truth. After her parents died in a car accident and she was sent to live with her uncle who didn’t much care for her. Unless it was to use her as a punching bag._

_She was depressed for the longest time. Until she met the other members in high school and they saved her. They taught her that life wasn’t made for the weak. Only the strong survive. And she was strong. This is why, one day, when the girls went over to her house to work on a project, they went down to the kitchen, picked the sharpest knives out of the drawer, and waited patiently for her uncle to come back from work._

_That was the day the game was born. And the day they all became killers. As it was their first time, it was quite a sloppy kill and it was only thanks to the hidden room behind their cellar that they found somewhere to store the body. That first kill ignited something in them they’d all been keeping restrained. Now that they’d gotten a taste for the game, their obsession would only grow from there._

_So that’s why the artist was especially bloodthirsty. Every time she heard her victim's pleading, it was her uncle’s voice that reverberated in her mind. And it only urged her on. She’d been a victim once before. She’d been the one in constant pain, hiding bruises and forgotten by all. And only when she killed her oppressor, did she get her first taste of freedom. And she would do whatever it took to keep it.”_

By that time, the bartender’s crowd had grown, lured by her story which she told with the same ease of someone who told stories for a living. Apart from her voice, complete silence filled the bar as everyone forgot their realities and were drawn towards the one she was creating. One filled with lies and deceit. The only acknowledgment she’d made when everyone had joined in was a small smile that didn’t look quite as innocent as the one, she’d been wearing before but it was gone before anyone noticed it.

“Why was she called the artist though?”, a woman questioned. The bartender smiled at her, not minding the interruption. “I was just getting to that”, she said. 

_“The artist wasn’t named that for her way of killing people. It was for what came afterward. You see, the artist would rearrange her victim’s limbs so they would show a crude representation of a board game. She would then take a picture of it which she used as evidence of her kill before burning what was left of the body. After all, they wouldn’t be able to keep playing the game if they were caught. They all had signatures like this. And they used them to claim responsibility for the kill in front of the others and keep track of the tallies._

_While their position in the hierarchy constantly changed, there was one member who mostly held the same place, just like the Artist. Except, instead of holding the first place, it was the last. And this was thanks to her particular methods._

_We’re talking about Wendy. Aka, the analyst. You see, while that first kill had given most of them a thirst for blood, this was not the case for the analyst. She didn’t much care for the actual killing part. In fact, she found it distasteful. She failed to see the appeal to all that blood and gore. What the analyst truly craved, what stayed with her after that experience, was the look in his eyes when he realized he was truly dying and there was no hope. That look, the way his will to fight faded, that was what she truly loved._

_It took a little bit longer but the analyst finally realized the best way to play the game. She was the complete opposite of the Artist. Because while the artist aimed to destroy her victim's bodies completely, the analyst targeted her victim's minds. For her, there was no greater pleasure than destroying her victims so mercilessly that they finally hit their breaking point and killed themselves._

_The analyst was truly the one member who never left the shadows. She would stalk her victims to get to know them. And once she was ready, she would start playing her mind games. She would leave things in places where the victim would find them. She would make them think what she wanted them to think. This way, she targeted her victim’s relationships. She would destroy them until her victim was completely alone, isolated from everyone they know and thinking they’re going crazy. And only then, would she slowly push them over the edge until they saw no other way out but death. Unaware of the eyes watching their every move._

_Moments after their death, a single anemone would be delivered to the door of the victim’s family. And if they just so happened to look up the meaning behind the flower, they would see the meaning and think it was sent by the victim before they took their own life. After all, fading hope certainly made sense._

_This technique meant that the analyst took more time with her kills, which meant she was the lowest in the hierarchy, but even then, the analyst knew this was the best way to play the game. The superior way. After all, while the others would dirty themselves with the unworthy, she got to stay in the shadows, controlling their every move like a person would control their chess pieces. They all thought of her as the most harmless of them all. Thought her to be weak for not getting her hands dirty. Little did they know, them thinking of her that way was exactly what she wanted. After all, there’s a certain power that comes from people underestimating you. And underestimating the analyst truly was a fatal mistake._

The bartender stopped her story without warning, turning around to look for a glass. The enraptured crowd made noises of disappointment but she ignored them, filling up her glass with water before turning back to look at them. She looked pleased with the attention the crowd was paying her, noticing from the window that the rain had stopped at some point but no one was making any moves to leave. She barely had time to place the glass back on the table after she’d finished her drink before a question was being shot her way. 

“What does that mean? Is the analyst going to kill the other ones?” A man asked. The same one who had been looking the most eager about leaving just an hour before, now completely invested in the story. 

The bartender shook her head, a small laugh leaving her mouth. “No, no, of course not.” She said. “None of the women would kill each other. As much as they sometimes wanted to, they were the only ones who understood each other. The only ones to play the game with. At the end of the day, they only had each other. So, while it was certainly a twisted friendship, they genuinely cared about each other. Or as much as people like them could care about someone else at least.”

“The analyst was simply thinking ahead. Like she always did. She cared about her friends but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what they’re capable of. And so, she was simply ready for anything.”

No one caught the way she’d started speaking in the past tense. No one other than the one person who hadn’t joined the crowd. The man who was still sitting at his own table, reading the same book from before. If people had truly paid attention, they’d realize that he hadn’t turned the page once from the moment he first got out the book. 

“Did something happen to the analyst as it did to the artist?” someone else asked. The bartender was quick to answer. “No, nothing like that. Unlike the artist, the analyst had always been like that. Even as a small child, she enjoyed playing mind games with people. Making her mother think she’d lost her phone yet again, or her father think her mother had been lying about something so he’d direct his rage towards her instead. Making the school bully think another kid in the class had been making fun of him to take the heat off her. Her brain had always been her weapon and she’d simply gone from small, sometimes harmless games to the big leagues.” 

Without any further questions, the bartender continued with the story. 

_The next woman is probably the most unpredictable of them all. The woman knew that most people were too weak to live in this world and wouldn’t understand what they were doing. This is why they’d all mastered masks which they used all the time, except around each other._

_They all had normal lives and normal jobs. They had other friends. Went out to eat, went on vacations. They did what any normal people would do. And they wore their masks all the while. No one would’ve ever been able to guess the true darkness that laid beneath the surface. The dark thoughts that echoed through their minds constantly. How they truly didn’t care about anyone else. Anyone besides each other. The only other people who truly knew them._

_The problem was, for this woman, it wasn’t really a mask. Not like the others. While the others had to put on their masks to act like any other person, while they had to pretend to feel most things, this woman, Yeri, who more commonly went by The Director actually did feel these things. For the most part, she didn’t have to fake things. Unlike the others, she was the only one who actually did care about her other friends and who enjoyed doing regular things like hanging out with them._

_She was genuinely a very caring and kind person. She would volunteer at the soup kitchen on weekends and donate to charities. And it wasn’t pretending. It was because she actually cared. Except, when she was with them, during their monthly meet-ups, it was like she became a completely different person. But at the same time, she was still herself. And that was what was scarier than any of the others. The others believed that she was delusional and they were probably right._

_The director was a kindergarten teacher but what she truly loved was writing. She had stacks of scripts she’d written, all of which had been rejected by every single company she sent them to. So she took it upon herself to make sure her stories got the chance to come to life._

_Unlike the others, she tended to keep her victims tied up till she had at least three at a time and she would then make them dress in costumes and act out her scripts in front of her. She’d often target the poor or homeless. People who wouldn’t be reported as missing. And once she had them in her grasp, the fun could begin._

_What was weird was, besides the kidnapping part, she actually treated her victims quite nicely. She kept them fed and didn’t hurt them. Till the reenactment started. The director was a perfectionist. She needed everything she’d written down to go exactly as she’d planned. Unfortunately for her victims who usually weren’t as worried as they’d been in the beginning thanks to how nice their kidnapper had been so far; the director tended to write really dark plays. Plays where everyone was killed off._

_Which is the reason why they were so often rejected. What started as a romantic story or a story about the bond between a family, usually took a darker twist sometime around the third act which ended with graphic descriptions of someone being tortured or dying. This is where it all went downhill for the actors. Whether it was torturing the other victim or stabbing them, the director expected them to do exactly what the script said. And if they didn’t… well… let’s just say the lucky ones were the ones who obeyed. Even if it did mean either killing someone else or themselves._

_The thing with the director was that she seemed to dissociate whenever that happened. She only saw her play being brought to life and didn’t realize the implications. Which is how she could both be someone who genuinely cares about people and wants to help, and someone who ends people’s lives without hesitation. Because for her, in that moment, they weren’t real people. And that’s what made the director into the scariest member of them all. Afterward, she would burn the bodies but not before tattooing on their wrist the name of the character they’d been playing._

The bartender stopped to make sure that everyone was still hanging on to her every word before continuing. 

_Now the next woman is probably the one with the strongest moral compass out of all of them. But don’t be fooled. That doesn’t make her any less dangerous. We’re talking about none other than Seulgi. The dancer. While the dancer admittedly doesn’t feel emotions as strongly as most people do and while she also believes in survival of the fittest and their whole game thing, unlike the others, she doesn’t see everyone else as weak._

_This probably comes from the dancer’s childhood. Growing up, all the dancer wanted to do was become a professional dancer. She loved it more than anything else in the world. And she was really good at it too. She was the best dancer in her dance studio by far. One day, their teacher told them that their studio would be participating in a highly competitive competition where famous recruiters would be watching. The dancer was so excited when she heard the news. Finally, it was her chance to shine._

_To no one’s surprise, their instructor chose the dancer as the person who would represent their studio in the competition. After all, she was by far the best. The dancer practiced day and night during the weeks leading up to the competition. She was so sure that this was her big chance. She would finally show everyone who’d doubted her that she has what it takes._

_And that is exactly what would’ve happened, had someone else not had other plans. There was a slightly older girl in the same studio who had always come second best to the dancer. And she was tired of it. So, the day before the big competition, while in dance class, she asked the dancer to help her with a hard move. The dancer was more than happy to lend her a hand, unaware of the tragedy that was about to befall her._

_For that specific move, there was a jump you had to do before landing in a specific position. The girl had planned it so that when she came down from the jump, she landed exactly on the dancer’s leg, sending her to the floor in agonizing pain. Everyone immediately rushed to the dancer’s side, aghast when they saw the white bone sticking out. The teacher called for an ambulance and it was while they were carrying her out, that that the dancer managed to see through her tears the older girl standing in the background, a small smirk on her face._

_The girl was chosen to participate in the competition in her place, with her being the second-best in the studio and she ended up not only winning but she was also recruited by a very famous company. Once the dancer was finally out of the hospital, nobody believed her claims about it being no accident and she was devastated to learn that with her injury, she’d never dance again._

_After the accident, she moved schools and started her sophomore year of high school somewhere new, which is where she met the other woman. They had all already known each other for a year and they were drawn to this new girl by the limp in her leg and the anger in her eyes. They’d found another kindred spirit._

“Wait, what does this have to do with the dancer not seeing everyone else as weak?” A woman asked. The bartender didn’t answer, instead moving to the other side of the bar for a stool which she then carried back to her side. Finally sitting down after standing for so long, she let out a small sigh of relief before looking back at the woman. “I’m getting to that”, she promised.

_The dancer had been on track to accomplish her dreams when they were taken away from her by a cheater. And that’s who the dancer sees as the weak. Unlike the others who see anyone who doesn’t give in to their darkest impulses as weak, the dancer feels respect for people who are hard workers and she feels sympathy for them when their hard work doesn’t pay off thanks to others._

_Cheaters, lazy people, cowards, that’s who she sees as truly weak. And that’s who she targets. Like the analyst, she’s also someone who doesn’t enjoy the blood and gore that much. Her way of dealing with her victims is very different. First, she breaks their leg in the same exact spot where hers was broken all that time ago. Then, she makes them dance. Broken leg and all. If they stop dancing for even one second, she stabs them._

_But she makes sure they’re all shallow stabs in places like the hands and legs. Nowhere near any vital arteries. After all, where’s the fun in them quickly bleeding out. It’s a game for the dancer. She times how long they can keep going before collapsing. And it’s only then, when they truly can’t continue, that she slits their throats._

“So, they all have this signature then? Like, the artist makes a picture with the limbs, the analyst sends flowers to her victim’s families, the director tattoos the name of her characters on their wrists, and the dancer breaks their legs in the same place?” the same woman as before asked. The bartender nodded her head. “Exactly.” She confirmed. “But why do they do that? Doesn’t it make it more likely that people will connect the dots?” she questioned. 

The bartender seemed impressed by the question. “Well, most of them got rid of their signatures afterward, asides from the flowers, so it wasn’t that risky. But you’re right, it definitely increases the likeliness of someone connecting the dots. You have to understand though, these signatures are as much a part of why they do what they do as the actual killing. It’s the part that can tell you why they do it. It represents what has driven them to kill their victims. And it is also a part of their ritual. They can’t kill someone without leaving behind their signature. 

A man looked at her skeptically. “You sure do know a lot about how their minds work”, he said. The bartender laughed a little. “Okay, you caught me. I’m a psych major. That’s why I love this kind of stories so much.” She explained. “Well, if the psychologist thing doesn’t work out, you could definitely become a writer with stories like these.” He joked, earning himself a smile from the bartender.

Seeing that there were no further questions, she continued her story. 

_Now, this last woman is the reason why everything went downhill for them. Joy, whose pseudonym fit her much better than her given name. The Aconitum. Named after a flower by the same name because, just like the flower, she was beautiful but deadly. Unlike the Analyst who faded into the background, the aconitum, just like an actual flower, bloomed and thrived in the sunlight._

_She was charming and friendly. At least, she appeared to be. Since she was quite petite, most people underestimated her. Which worked to her advantage. For many, many men, underestimating the aconitus would be the last thing they ever did._

_She had had a harsh childhood. Her mother died giving childbirth and so she was raised by her father, a workaholic who she barely saw once a week. Without any affection and guidance in her home-life, the aconitus sought to find it elsewhere. And she did when she was 14 years old and met the guy who would become her first boyfriend._

_He gave her all the love and assurances she’d been longing for her whole life and soon, everything became about him. She wanted to spend every second of the day with him. She’d never truly known love before and now that she’d finally found it, she wasn’t about to let it go._

_For the first time in her life, she was truly happy. And that happiness lasted for 3 years. So, what if he had slowly changed and now only ever wanted to do what he wanted. So, what if she sometimes shouted at her or even grabbed her harsh enough to leave bruises. So, what. That didn’t matter, as long as she had him. The gentle words and hugs that were becoming rarer and rarer were still worth everything._

_This is why she was especially confused and devastated when she suddenly saw him in school with another girl one day, arm wrapped around her waist. She quickly approached him, wanting to know what was going on but he wouldn’t even look at her, too busy looking at the new girl. In desperation, she finally shover the girl away, trying to get his attention back on her._

_And when she did, she quickly regretted it. He quickly closed the space between them, towering over her. “What the hell are you doing?” he screamed. The aconitus couldn’t help but withdraw into herself, left almost speechless by the amount of disgust that she could see directed her way by him._

_“What were you doing with her?” she asked back, after getting her voice back. The boy shook his head in disgust. “She’s my new girlfriend so don’t ever touch her again or you’ll regret it.” He hissed, so close to her face that spit flew out onto her face. Without another word, the boy turned around, wrapped his arm back around the girl’s waist, and left, uncaring to the now sobbing girl behind him._

_After that, the girl learned the hard way that love really is just an illusion and that men can’t be trusted. Lucky for her, while everyone left the girl alone, crying on the floor, a group of 4 girls approached her. And so, their little group was finally complete, all with hate and vengeance in their hearts._

_This is why the aconitus targets men. Always men. She often spends her time in clubs and bars, flirting with strangers and locking in on her next target. She doesn’t like just killing them though. No, it’s the game she plays beforehand that she really loves. Much like he played with her heart for a long time, she likes dragging it out. She gets the guys to fall so in love with her, just like she had done so all those years ago. And honestly, it’s easy for her. With her looks and her charms._

_She waits till they’ve said the L word to her for the first time before striking. She cooks them a nice dinner and invites them over, watching them scarf down their food unaware of the poison it is laced with. And afterward, she sits there, sipping her wine and watching them fall to the ground, struggling to breathe._

_She’s always careful about leaving no trace of herself behind. She makes up excuses so she doesn’t meet her victim’s family or friends. All they know is that he was dating someone new and now he’s dead and there is no trace of the woman. This is why it took everyone by surprise when she ended up being their downfall._

_In her defense, the aconitus had no plans of falling in love with her newest victims. Usually, she found it rather easy to distance herself from them as people, to see them as replicas of her old boyfriend, so to say. This is why she usually went with guys with similar physical attributes. It reminded her of her rage. The humiliation she’d felt. The feeling of complete and utter weakness which she’d swore she’d never allow herself to fall victim to again. This time, however, she ended up going for a guy that couldn’t have looked more different. This was something she would usually never do but something about his vibrant forest green eyes drew her in like a moth to a light._

_And before long, she found herself forgetting about the game. The more time they spent together, the more the game faded into the background. And so, when he finally told her he loved her after a few months of dating, she said it back without hesitation and for the first time, actually meant it. Her original plan was all but forgotten._

_The aconitus found herself feeling happier than she’d ever been. She felt understood for the first time and their relationship progressed quickly. She started missing some of the group’s meetings and when confronted, she simply told them she was playing the long game with someone else. She feared telling them the truth. That the hate and anger that had been controlling her for so long was gone. She didn’t want to play the game anymore. She just wanted to live her life with the guy with the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen._

_And so, when he told her he wanted her to meet his brother, she agreed without hesitation. Unknowingly sealing her and the other’s fate. His brother, Jackson, was a few years younger than him and almost as charming. They invited him over to dinner soon after they’d moved in together and their first meeting couldn’t have gone any better._

_Jacksonwas currently in college but he was already one of the smartest people she had ever met. He was quick on his feet and somehow managed to bring the weirdest subjects up and start an interesting conversation about them. All in all, it was a very successful dinner, and soon, Jacksonand she had become friends. Something for which his older brother constantly complained about even though he was actually happy to see the two people he loved the most get along so well._

_The only thing standing between her happily ever after was the weight of the secret she was keeping from him. She hated lying to him about who she truly was, about the things she’d done. And so, she finally decided to tell him the truth one day. I know, pretty dumb move but what can I say? Love makes you do stupid decisions._

_Unfortunately for them, her friends had gotten suspicious and had finally decided to go over to her house and confront her. They arrived just in time to see the aftermath. He was pacing around the living room, clearly trying to calm himself down while she stood back and watched him, a worried look in her eyes. He came to a sudden stop and turned to look at her, dead in the eyes. “So you’re telling me you’ve actually killed people? You were planning on killing me when we met?” he exclaimed, disbelief in his voice._

_The aconitus hesitated briefly before nodding, quickly regretting it when he suddenly turned around and punched a hall in the wall. She was suddenly reminded of her old boyfriend’s violent tendencies. “I’ve changed, I swear. I would never hurt you.” She quickly said. Wordlessly, he took out his phone, getting ready to dial the police. Desperate, she pleaded with him one last time. “Please. Give me one chance. I love you and I know you love me too.” He didn’t reply but she could sense his hesitation, slightly lowering the phone._

_Taking it as a cue to continue, she wasted no time. “If I hadn’t changed, I never would’ve told you. I did it because I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I don’t want this lie hanging between us for the rest of our lives. Please. We’re so happy right now. Don’t take that away from us.”_

_At her words, he finally looked up from the phone, a look of indecision painting his face. She could see the unshed tears in his eyes and her heart ached at the pain they held. She started taking a step forward, ready to embrace him, when the uncertainty in his eyes was very suddenly replaced by a very different one. Surprise. And pain. The aconitus stopped in her tracks, confused by the sudden change, her eyes never leaving his for a second when he fell to his knees without warning. He opened his mouth, trying to say something but all that came out of it was blood. He gurgled for a few moments before finally dropping to the ground, revealing the knife that had been buried in his back. And none other than the Artist standing where he had been standing only moments before._

_The analyst, the dancer and the director were all standing a few feet behind, staring at the body emotionless. Realization of what had just happened finally dawned on the aconitus like a cold wave, a heart-wrenching scream leaving her lips as she fell to her knees, begging him to hold on. His eyes met hers one last time, full of things he never got to say before they finally closed for the last time._

“I can’t believe they did that to that poor boy. Especially seeing as their friend was finally happy.” A woman stated in disbelief. There were murmurs of agreement among the crowd but it was one specific man’s comment that drew the bartender’s attention. “Didn’t you say they cared about each other? Doesn’t sound like it.” 

The bartender stilled for a moment before her usual smile came back on. “They did care for one another. Don’t doubt that. In fact, there was no worse fate in their minds than losing each other. And that was why they did what they did. This man was threatening to take their friend away from them. And they couldn’t allow that. No matter the cost. Only they truly understood each other and any outsider trying to tear them apart simply had to go. It was that easy.” 

“Wait, but, you don’t actually believe that, right?” the man questioned. The bartender let out a small chuckle at the question. “Of course, I don’t. No one could understand it beside them. I’m just telling the story how I heard it.” 

“Now who wants something to eat?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before taking out a bag of pretzels from under the bar and opening it, popping one in her mouth before offering it to the closest person. “Now, if everyone’s ready, I’ll continue the story.”

_The woman tried explaining their reasoning behind killing the man to their friend, but it was all for nothing. They tried anything and everything, even telling her that they were trying to save her because he was obviously going to turn her in but she refused to listen. Eventually, they decided to grant her some space to come to terms with it and simply left her alone. She hadn’t said a single word since his death. And she never would. As it was only a month after it happened that Jackson decided to visit, wondering why his older brother hadn’t been answering his calls in weeks._

_The image that greeted him when he entered their house was one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The aconitus was hanging from the rafters, a noose tied around her neck as her body swayed in the air. On the floor was the now decomposing body of his brother. The women had thought that the aconitus would get rid of the body like she always did after a kill but her will to live had vanished when he’d died. And so, she spent a month looking at his body before finally deciding to join him. Propped on the kitchen table was a small note with only two sentences written on it. “This is your fault. You shouldn’t have killed him.”_

_It was clear that the aconitus had thought that the women would be the ones to find her body. Unfortunately for them, it was actually Jackson who was completely devastated by both his brother and his friend’s deaths. The note, however, made it very clear that someone had killed his brother. And he intended to find out who, no matter what it took. He pushed down all the guilt and sadness and let his anger take him over instead._

_It was during the aconitus funeral that he found out who was responsible for their deaths. Besides a few other people, she’d barely known, aka neighbors, coworkers, etc.… there were four women who, unlike the other distraught people, looked rather mad. There was something off about their expressions and Jackson knew immediately that this was the woman the note had been referring to. As if they sensed his gaze, one of them suddenly turned towards him, meeting his eyes, and at that moment, Jackson knew, without a doubt, that he was right about his assumptions. There was something dark and sinister in the woman’s eyes._

_Which is why he discreetly took pictures of them. After getting back home, it was only a matter of finding their faces on the internet. And considering the social media age, they live in; he did not doubt that his search would turn out effective. And indeed, it did as three different Instagram pages showed up. A fourth was missing but he would take care of her after he took care of the other three._

_He spent the next week scrawling through their Instagram pages, wondering how three women who looked so normal were capable of something like that. And with every picture of them smiling at the camera, pretending to be someone they clearly weren’t, Jackson´s anger grew until revenge was the only thing on his mind. His parents had died when he was little and his brother had basically raised him. He was the only family he had. And these women had taken him from him. So now, he was going to make them regret it._

_After a few weeks of planning and a quick trip to the nearest store to buy some rope and a knife, he finally made his move. His first target was the woman with the most active Instagram page. It stated that she was a dance instructor for little kids and he managed to get the name of the studio from a picture she’d posted where she was posing with the kids right in front of the studio._

_He remembered her being the woman who was limping during the funeral so he briefly wondered how she was a dance instructor before pushing it to the back of his mind. That didn’t matter. What matter was that he had managed to get a faint idea of her schedule from her almost daily posts and he knew for a fact that she would probably be at the studio late that night._

_And so, he wasted no time before driving over._

_Once there, it turned out to be much easier than he expected. The door was opened and he followed the faint sound of music to the only room that was being used at the moment. The woman stood in front of the mirror, sweat pouring down her forehead as she continued repeating the same easy move, her face scrunching with pain every time._

_She saw his reflection in the mirror and quickly stopped what he was doing, turning to look at him. “I’m sorry but we’re close”, she said. Lawrence didn’t say anything, simply took a step forwards, stepping out of the shadows. The dancer let out a small gasp when she saw him, clearly recognizing him from the funeral. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she said, trying to make her voice sound stern. The clear shaking in her voice, however, showed her true feelings._

_Jackson simply took another step forward, taking the knife from his pocket. Considering the woman’s condition, it was clear he wouldn’t need the rope after all. This continued as a dance of sorts. The dancer would take a step back and Lawrence would take one forwards, slowly but surely closing the space between them until the dancer’s back finally hit the mirror. She was trapped. “Please”, she pleaded. Jackson, however, was deaf to her pleas, and in one quick move, he roughly turned her around and impaled the knife in his back, in an imitation of what they had done to his brother._

_The dancer slowly fell to the floor, leaving a bloody imprint of herself in the mirror. Lawrence waited until the life had left the dancer’s eyes before turning around to leave. He knew the body would be found the next day but hopefully, he’ll have taken out the rest of the woman by then._

_He got back in his car and drove to his next destination. While he drove, he thought back on the feeling of stabbing a knife into someone. Of holding a life in his hands. It was unlike any feeling he’d ever experienced. It made him feel powerful. And it was at that moment, in a brief moment of clarity, that he realized that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t really all that different from the women he was hunting down._

_He vanished that thought the second it appeared, telling himself that it was different. That he was doing it for his brother. He ignored the fact that a normal person wouldn’t have enjoyed killing someone so much and instead focused on his mission._

_By that time, he had just arrived at an apartment complex where he knew two of the women lived together. In the cover of darkness, he climbed the stairs towards the apartment they lived in, thinking to himself that they had really made it easy for him with their tendency to overshare on their social media pages._

_He didn’t bother knocking, wanting to have the element of surprise. At this point, he honestly didn’t care if he got caught. Not as long as he managed to do what he came here to do before that happened. And so, he quickly kicked in the door, freezing at the sight before him. All three women who were left had been sitting on the couch and quickly jumped up, eyes drawn to the knife in his hand._

_Unlike the dancer who had been taken by surprise in a moment of weakness, he was now facing all three women and he’d forgotten something vital. They’d been playing this game a lot longer than him. In a flash, all three women had thrown themselves at him, catching him off balance and sending the knife flying. Now weaponless, he made his best to get the woman off him, knowing that they would not hesitate to kill him if given the chance._

_The artist had left both women struggling against Jackson while she went for the knife. During all the trashing, they’d managed to make their way to the open kitchen where they had previously been frying French fries. In trying to get the woman off him, he accidentally hit the pan and the boiling hot oil went flying, spraying the analyst on the neck. She immediately let go of Jackson, screaming in pain as her hands flew towards her burnt neck._

_With one of them distracted, Lawrence managed to throw the director towards the floor, turning around just in time to avoid the artist stabbing him right in the back. Unfortunately for him, it still went into his shoulder and he let out a howl of pain, walking backward right towards the open stove._

_His sleeve which has gotten some drops of oil on them made contact with the small fire that was turned on the stove and what happened next was a quick chain of reactions. He quickly caught fire and the artist, who had just lunged at him again, ended up catching fire too. Jackson reacted quickly and tore off his shirt, hissing in pain at the burns on his skin. The artist, unfortunately, didn’t react as quickly and the fire spread quickly as she ran around screaming in agonizing pain._

_Unfortunately, she ended up brushing against a lot of things that also caught fire before she finally dropped to the ground, dead. To this day, the analyst still doesn’t know how a full-on fire started so quickly but by the time Jackson turned around, she was long gone. He saw the director stuck on the other side of the room but there was a wall of fire in between them and so, trusting that the fire would take care of her, Jackson quickly left the apartment, the faint sound of sirens in the distance prompting him to start running._

“So, they’re all dead except the analyst?” A woman asked? “You would think so but no actually”, she replied. The firemen managed to get there in time to save the director who, while badly burned, managed to survive the night. “Of course, finding her with a dead body, they quickly arrested her after she got out of the hospital. The normal part of her seemed to vanish with the deaths of her friends and soon, it was clear to everyone that there was something seriously wrong with her. 

The judge declared her criminally insane and had her put in an asylum where she still is to this day. From what I’ve heard, she hasn’t stopped writing her plays, except this time, she makes the other patients reenact them. Without the maiming part of course. And while her plays have gotten even darker and more disturbing, now usually containing graphic descriptions of the torture of a character named Jackson, her smile and sunny disposition has only gotten brighter.”

The woman looked visibly disturbed at that but didn’t say anything. “And Jackson? Did they ever catch him?” The bartender visibly paled before shaking her head. “Unfortunately, no. He disappeared after that night and was never seen or heard from again.” 

“And what about the analyst? What happened to her?” The bartender laughed at the eager looks she was getting. “Oh, her? Well, I’m not sure but like I mentioned in the beginning. The analyst is always three steps ahead and ready for anything. So, I’m sure she escaped to somewhere. Or who knows, maybe Jackson found her and killed her.”

“When did this all happen?” the same man wondered. The bartender grinned at that. “You don’t actually think this is based on a real story, do you?” she asked incredulously. “I literally just made it up right now.” 

The crowd looked visibly disappointed at the admission but quickly cheered up once more when one of them finally noticed that the rain had stopped pouring and pointed it out. With the previous mood broken, most people started making their way out after paying, thanking the bartender for an entertaining story to pass the time. Soon, the only people left were her regular customer who had ordered another drink and the only man who hadn’t gotten closer to hear the story, sitting at a table and reading a book. She quickly made sure her regular customer didn’t need anything else before approaching the man, asking him if he wanted a refill. 

The man, meanwhile, was looking down at his book; his eyes stuck to the small photograph which lied there. It was clearly an old picture that showed his teenage self in a forest. But that wasn’t the part he was looking at. It was the slightly taller boy that stood next to him, an arm around his shoulder. Identical smiles shone on both their faces; the taller boy’s forest-green eyes particularly visible. The guilt that he had been carrying around for so long squeezing around his heart, making it harder to breathe.

“Soon”, he thought. “Soon it will finally be over. She will pay for what she did to you.” With that thought in mind, he smiled at the bartender when she asked him if he wanted a refill, eagerly waiting for the moment the last customer would finally leave. And as he stared at the scarf on her neck, he wondered if the burnt skin still hurt her as bad as it did him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are highly appreciated. Let me know what you thought


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